


A Safe Place, a Hot Drink, and a Listening Ear

by RavioliRed



Category: Nabari no Ou
Genre: Gen, Manga Spoilers, Post-Canon, Rated T for Trashmouth, Referenced Major Character Death, That was already a tag and that delights me, Yuhki Kamatani secret santa 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:28:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21982939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavioliRed/pseuds/RavioliRed
Summary: Or: two caretakers of a lost boy reminisce. The sun rises and time moves on, but the bonds of a chosen family are forever.
Relationships: Yukimi Kazuhiko & Seki Hanabusa
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	A Safe Place, a Hot Drink, and a Listening Ear

**Author's Note:**

> This is was part of the Yuhki Kamatani secret santa event- my giftee is eendroid on tumblr! I was a little worried about figuring out what to write, but I really enjoyed making this, and I hope you enjoy reading it too :)

The sun is still low on the horizon, its beams just beginning their morning stretch, when Yukimi reaches Banten. He parks on a roadside, squints up at the dawn sky through his windshield, sighs, and releases the steering aid on the wheel to take a long sip of his coffee. _Mornings_ , he grouses to himself. Still, he has to admit that the sunrise makes a pretty picture. The quiet of it all makes him think of the other trips he used to take to Banten, before… well. 

He misses the kid. 

A soft miaow from the passenger side breaks into his reverie, and he turns to give the little black cat a gentle pat. 

“You’re right, Yoi,” he tells him. “We should get going.”

* * *

He would pick up Miharu in the afternoon for work, but technically, the reason why he’s gotten here so early was for more of a social call. His legs are aching by the time he’s climbed all the stairs leading up to Hanabusa’s house, and he reflects that he’s not in nearly the same shape as he used to be, when he was with the Grey Wolves. Maybe he should take up jogging.

The thought is so absurd in its mundaneness that he almost cracks up right then and there on the doorstep. He does allow himself a grin, and Yoi sends him a curious glance from his carrier. 

“What’re you looking at, cat?” he mutters, still grinning. He’s about to knock and announce himself when the door in front of him slides open, revealing Hana in a striped cream blouse and blue jeans, her hair held half-up with a clip in the shape of a white rose. When she sees Yukimi, a smile blooms across her face.

“Yukimi! I thought I heard someone’s voice, and I was wondering who it could be— Tobari’s out today. Come on in! I’ll get some tea started.”

Yukimi thanks her and follows her in, toeing off his shoes in the entryway. With Hana’s approval, he opens up Yoi’s carrier to let him out. The little cat stretches and peers around, taking in his surroundings. All at once, his attention snaps to a fly buzzing lazily in the direction of the kitchen, and he bounds after his prey.

Hana laughs, eyes crinkling. “Yoi’s as lively as ever, huh?”

He grins, agreeing. “There’s hardly a dull moment with that one. Kinda like the kid, in a different way.”

When Hana looks at him, then, it’s with a glint of understanding in her eyes. Or maybe it’s just the light. “You don’t mean Miharu, do you.”

He shakes his head, half in response and half to bring himself back to the present. 

Before either can comment further on the matter, the tea kettle begins to whistle, and Hana goes to attend it. “Go sit down,” she tells him. “I’ll have this out in just a moment.”

He does, sinking down into the comfortable couch, but remains lost in his thoughts. Of hot lemon tea, and the boy he could remember now, but had forgotten for so long. Like his lost arm, most of the time he could go about his life, and everything would be fine; but when the phantom pain hit, it was just as strong in his heart as in his missing arm.

Hana makes her way back, carefully setting their tea down on the table, and Yukimi accepts his with thanks. Yoi has given up on his fly chase, and settles down next to him on the couch, while Hana sits opposite. He inhales the hot steam and sighs. Hana levels a concerned look at him.

“You’re being uncharacteristically quiet today.” She pauses, glancing between the tea and Yoi curled into his side. “Have you been thinking about Yoite a lot, lately?”

Just hearing the name of the boy he had come to care for as his own, Yukimi can feel his heart make a complicated pang, loss and grief and parental love all tangled together in one. He’s a little startled that she noticed the pattern of his thoughts, though. He thought he was supposed to be the observant one, and, chuckling, tells her as much.

Hana smiles warmly then, because she has a warm smile for every occasion, and asks, “How’re you holding up, then? With your memories back?”

His first instinct is to deflect. He’s a reporter; he likes asking questions, not answering them. “I’m fine, really,” he says, following quickly with “how about you, though? You took to the kids pretty fast, I seem to recall. You cared about him, too.”

Hana’s smile becomes something more somber but soft, and he can tell that she’s thinking of one of the times Yoite had been here. “I did. I do,” she says. “It’s hard, sometimes. I think I did all I could, to make him feel welcome here, so he would know that this was a place he could come back to. Sometimes I worry that he never quite took that to heart,” and Yukimi is about to interrupt, to tell her how much it meant that the kids had had somewhere to go when they ran off, some _one_ to go to, but she holds up a hand to finish. “Then I would remember the look on his face whenever he had that lemon tea of yours, and I knew he had someone good looking after him when I couldn’t be there.”

Yukimi leans back, looks at the ceiling and hums in thought. In all honesty, he’s not sure what to say to that. He’s never felt particularly worthy of taking on dependants, and he’s still not entirely sure he didn’t screw up with Yoite. He tries not to dwell on the what-ifs too much, but even though he’s not one to get stuck in the past, he struggles with this, sometimes.

Finally, he looks back at her, takes a measured breath. “Y’know, even though I was lookin’ after him, I usually felt like I didn’t know the first thing about the kid,” he starts. “He barely spoke, ate a hole in my salary, and ran off on his own all the time. It was enough to drive me nuts.” He closes his eyes, takes another breath. “But then at the end of the day, he’d be home, asking for lemon tea and answers to all sorts of questions rattling around in that head of his. And I’ve never liked kids much, but I wanted to be there for him, even if I didn’t know how to be. Y’know?” 

Hana offers a soft smile. “It’s hard to tell what people need, when they’re still figuring it out for themselves,” she says. “But it’s hard to go wrong with a safe place to be, a hot drink, and a listening ear.”

Yukimi can’t help but to smile back. This is why he’s always liked Hana, even when Tobari had taken some warming up to: she’s just as straightforward as she is kind. “Yeah, you’re right on that one.” 

They enjoy a moment of quiet, each sipping their tea. Yoi has moved from napping to gently headbutting Yukimi, and he sets his mug down to give the cat some gentle scratches behind the ears.

“I don’t know if he ever thought of this house as anything more than a refuge in a storm,” Hana says. “But I think he must’ve felt truly at home, at your place.”

Yukimi freezes, hearing the echo of a voice in his ears, the soft call of _I’m home_ that he’d waited so long to hear. He was sure he hadn’t told Hanabusa about it. 

Mistaking his silence, Hana waves a hand and adds, “Don’t worry, I don’t take it personally! I know I mentioned the lemon tea before, but he asked after it, when he was here. It seemed like a source of comfort, like a piece of home for him. It made me think, that whoever made that for him normally must mean a lot to him.”

He considers her words for a moment, weighs the idea of telling her, now, about those last precious moments with Yoite’s spirit. He knows why he hasn’t yet; remembering had been a relief, yes, like a piece of his heart slotting back into place, but it also meant remembering the loss of someone precious. He’d held it together while Yoite was there, wanting to make his spirit’s last moments warm, free, _good_. He’d needed Yoite to know that he was cared for and welcomed and, yes, that it was his home, always open to him (in life and in death) no matter how far he wandered. But the first moment he’d had to himself after, Yoite gone but not _gone_ , he’d broken down.

He didn’t need to fill her in on every one of those details, maybe. But she cared about the kid, had always wanted good things for him and had been willing to provide as many as she could, in the short time she’d known him. She would appreciate knowing that when Yoite’s spirit left, he’d seemed at peace.

So he sets his tea aside for the moment. Straightens his spine. And he tells her.

It doesn’t take more than a minute, though it feels like much longer. And when he finishes, they both undeniably tearing up. His writer’s brain nudges him, then, reminding him of another important detail.

“He had that scarf on, you know. You made that for him, right?” 

She nods, and she’s smiling again but it’s wobbly now, and Yukimi can relate. He adds, because he can, “I think you did just as much for him, honestly. I can’t knit for _shit_.”

They laugh together at that, just to have something to laugh at, and he thanks her more seriously because it really does take a damn village, and because he can’t think of a better person to lean on, or anyone else he’d rather Yoite and Miharu rely on.

They spend the rest of their time catching up on more mundane things: their jobs, the local news, a stray cat that had started wandering by. They sip their tea down to the dregs, fill their mugs up again, and drain them again. It’s nice. Dumbfoundingly nice. So nice that it doesn’t feel like it should be possible at all. It really hits him as he takes his leave, after saying goodbye for what surely must be the fifth time:

Yukimi knows, objectively, that the version of himself from just a year ago could’ve never imagined this. Could’ve never imagined whiling away a morning (and a good chunk of the afternoon) at the house of a civilian and a former enemy, could’ve never imagined the stakes he’s felt now in not just one, but two kids growing up okay, could’ve never imagined that all of these people had come together, just because they _cared_ , to be one big weird family who looked after each other and thought about one another and who’d also sort of changed the world, even as they grieved the ones that they’d loved and lost, and loved still. 

And thinking of all of the things the future will surely have in store for them— chaos, for sure, always that— but also more of _this_ , the hot tea, the warm smiles and the laughter and the gentle teasing, the quiet calm of a place meant for sharing with others, well—

He knows he wouldn’t trade it, trade _them_ , for anything.

**Author's Note:**

> There's no particular rhyme or reason to my blog, but follow me if you want! I'm raviolired on tumblr too.


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